


where the heart is

by cloudsleeper



Category: Octopath Traveler (Video Game)
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-24
Updated: 2018-07-24
Packaged: 2019-06-15 19:26:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,630
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15419928
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cloudsleeper/pseuds/cloudsleeper
Summary: It’s not until she’s here, Ophilia thinks, that she realizes how much she's missed them.(in which Tressa purchases a home, and everyone gets some much needed respite.)





	where the heart is

Ophilia stirs.

She finds herself swathed in vibrant and cloud-soft quilted blankets. The room itself is unfamiliar to her, though not in an unpleasant manner with its creamy beige walls and muted lights.

Positioned along the windowsill are darkened jars filled with plum and white skullcap blossoms. Their fragrance drifts through the air, guided by a slight breeze. The sunset casts a warm, orangey glow across the room, and speckles of dust glimmer as they catch light.

 

The young woman doesn’t recall falling asleep, nor the cause of her insistent migraine. She hears discourse beneath the flooring. Downstairs, she realizes. Where is this place?

She tries to sit up.

Her limbs protest from disuse; she winces as a wave of dizziness overwhelms her.

“Easy there,” a familiar voice says, on her close right. The young woman jumps, and turns her gaze towards the source. Could it be?

Her heart swells.

“Alfyn!”

The apothecary gives her a tiny wave. She almost hears his limbs creak as he stands from the bedside seat. His hair is even more mussed than she remembers, and his eyes crinkle despite the darkened shadows underneath.

Regardless, he’s a welcome sight, among many others, that she’s not seen in quite some time. One year and seventeen days, she thinks to herself.

She watches as Alfyn shuffles over to a pitcher, pours drinking water into a glass, and ambles back with a sunny grin. He holds out a hand to stop her from getting up.

“Woah, Ophilia. You ain't recovered fully just yet. Take it slow. How are ya feeling?”

“Oh,” She flushes, and pauses for a moment to gather her thoughts. “I seem to have a small headache, and my limbs ache a bit.”

He nods, handing her the glass of water. She sips it.

“Not unexpected. You’ve been out sick for nearly a week, you know.” The tone in his voice is a mixture of amusement and reproach. She coughs mid-sip.

 _A week?_ She’s stunned.

“How did I- where is this place?” The questions pour forth.

“H’aanit,” he comments with cheer. “was around the outskirts of Marsalim. Said she was out there for a mark. Found you instead, sick to the bones with Flatland Fever. Sure was some pretty good timin’, huh? Ah. ‘Scuse me for just a sec.”

He puts a cool palm to her forehead and beams. “Yep, you’re nearly right as rain now. Glad to see that medicine I whipped up worked its wonders.”

She’s shocked again.

“H’aanit is here too?”

Alfyn nods. “Heh. Sure is. Take a guess as to what this place is.”

She thinks for another moment.

“It’s not the inn, is it?” She wonders. The room itself has a sort of cozy, disheveled sensation to it. As if someone, or perhaps several people, have been living here. He laughs.

“Not quite.” Then he opens his mouth as if to start explaining.

A recognizable merchant, feathered hat and all, bursts through the creaky wooden door with the cheeriest of greetings.

“Dinner’s ready! How’s Ophilia?” Tressa is bubbly as always, and adds an “Oh, you’re up!” as they catch glimpse of one another.

The cleric blinks once.

She blinks again, and rubs her eyes. Her two friends, friends that she hadn't seen for more than a year, are both still standing before her.

“Good timing, Tressa. I was just explainin’ to Ophilia here what this old place is.”

The merchant girl bristles at his words, her cheeks puffed with indignation.

“ _Old?_ I’ll have you know I bought this home for everyone at a great bargain!”

Alfyn gestures to the peeling paint on the wall. “And this-“

“Is an aesthetic choice,” Tressa quips. “Besides, like I said before, buying this house for everyone is definitely a better investment in the long run. This is our _home base_.”

“Plus,” the merchant grumbles. “I’m real tired of staying in inns. The Saintsbridge innkeeper practically runs away when he sees any of us, ever since Sir Olberic challenged him to a duel that one time.” The conversation finished, the younger girl darts up to the bedside.

“Hiya, Ophilia! You feeling better?” Her eyes glisten with concern.

She manages a nod in response.

“It’s truly a wonderful surprise to see you both,” the young woman admits. “Thank you for helping me.”

She receives two beaming smiles in exchange. Talking with both Alfyn and Tressa in the same room, she thinks for the eighty-ninth time, is like basking in the sunlight after a harsh winter.

Alfyn laughs.

“All in a day’s work. Think you’d be up for some food? Soup, if you can manage it. And,” he adds. “H’aanit’s cooking. We can catch up after.”

As if on cue, her stomach rumbles. She feels her cheeks pinken.

“I would,” she admits.

She makes her way down the creaky steps with slow deliberation, supported by her companions.

“The living room’s a real mess.” Alfyn's tone is light despite the warning, and he gives a wince as Tressa pokes him in the hip. They all stumble on the last step.

And Ophilia takes a deep breath as she takes in the setting before her. A fireplace is kindling on the farthest wall, the hearth made of cobbled stone. Worn landscape paintings framed in gilded wood hang overhead. Beyond several arched windows lies a garden, filled with blossoming plum and pomegranate trees. The cabinets against the walls are covered with various knickknacks. Keys, journals, letters, maps, sparkling green stones. Bookshelves are crammed to the brim with an assortment of books. A rug, richly patterned and dyed a grass green, hugs her bare toes with its softness.

And with ever graceful strides, entering into the dining room with a plate of freshly baked bread is-

“Primrose!”

The dancer glances upwards upon hearing Ophilia’s voice. Her sober countenance melts into gentle delight. “Ah, you’re awake. I’m glad to see you’re feeling better. Come and sit down, won’t you?”

“I’d like to help,” Ophilia insists, and hears sounds of dissent around her.

“You’d help ease our minds by just resting, y’know? We’ll handle the rest.” The apothecary herds her towards the nearest chair.

She decides not to argue. Her legs are trembling with strain as she reaches the seat, and she watches as he dashes off to another room- the kitchen, perhaps.

The table at the center before her, with hardwood bowls and cutlery, is set for eight.

“Is everyone here?” Her thought is spoken aloud.

“Yep-“

“Not quite-“

Tressa and Primrose glance at each other, then share a small laugh.

“I’ll go call the professor,” the merchant offers. “He’s reading some books in the library room. Probably forgot it’s time to eat, as usual.” She bounds up the stairs.

She bounds back in less than a minute.

“He’ll be down in a jiffy,” she declares and plops down in the seat beside Ophilia. 

“Olberic is by the lake, and should return soon.” Primrose thinks for a moment. “As for Therion, he’s likely somewhere in town. He arrived earlier this morning while you were asleep, and left in quite the hurry.”

She gives the cleric a knowing smile, her expression full of good humor.

Swift footsteps come down the stairs. Moments later, Cyrus strides towards the table, his signature cape flowing behind him. There’s splotches of writing ink on his face, and a fountain pen tucked behind his ear.

“The lady has recovered,” he exclaims in delight. “It was quite the concerning situation. I’m overjoyed to see that all is better. It has been quite some time, has it not?”

“Professor! It really has,” she responds. “I can’t believe everyone’s here.” Really, her heart is so full it feels as if it could burst. She opens her mouth to say more-

The door creaks open.

A disgruntled and soaked to the bone Olberic lumbers in, with his usually slicked back hair clinging to his face. The cleric is reminded of a bear that’s been out catching salmon by the waterside only to emerge in want of fish.

He catches her glance, and nods once in her direction.

“’Tis is a relief to see you up.” With those words, he sits by the fireplace. She hears smothered chuckles. Primrose is hiding a smile and Alfyn, who has just come back from the kitchen balancing a crock of soup, wears a mile wide grin. He leans in and whispers into Ophilia’s ear.

“A challenge from his old pal,” he confides. “Olberic is learnin’ how to swim decent.” The apothecary straightens after setting the soup down, plucks a towel draped over one of the cabinets, and heads towards the fireplace.

She sees the sopping warrior accept the towel and a sympathetic pat on the shoulder, with the refined dignity of a knight preparing once more for the battlefield. 

“Indeed. Achieving buoyancy seems to be his main issue.” The professor notes to her left. He’s taken a seat at the table, flipping through a hefty book that has mysteriously appeared from thin air. “Though practice in everything makes improvement. With time and effort, he should be able to swim long distances with ease.”

He pauses, bringing his hand to his chin in deep thought. “Mayhap a kickboard of sorts would serve good use. Or alternative swimming styles.” Upon this statement, his eyes light up, and he stands up- presumably to dart over to the fireplace with a list of proposals.

“Come now, thou must partake in meals first,” a deeper feminine voice says. “Ideas are better hadst with the proper energy.” H’aanit, donned in her hunting gear, is carrying in a tray laden with dishes.

Her ever faithful snow leopard, Linde, rumbles in agreement as they walk alongside one another.

The aroma coming from the dishes are fragrant and mouthwatering. There’s tomato consommé soup, grilled cheese sandwiches, foraged grape and olive salads, nut porridge, creamy goat cheese with honey, fried apples, roast beef, Highlands chicken and mushrooms with red wine. The table is very nearly overflowing with foods.

In short time they’re all seated around the table, munching away and making idle banter. Cyrus is spreading generous dollops of fruit preserves on the breadroll with a look of incomparable elation, and Tressa is putting away several sandwiches with ease.

Primrose and Alfyn are discussing salves for shoulder pains, as Olberic stoically chews on a slice of cheese with bread.

It feels as though everyone had never went their separate ways. It’s not until she’s here, Ophilia thinks, that she realizes how much she's missed them.

Over dinner, she learns it’s still rather uncommon for them all to gather like this. But once Tressa had gotten word out about Ophilia’s condition, each traveler had set aside their obligations to come see her. No matter how far from Saintsbridge they had been.

“So how goest the sabbatical, Ophilia? Thou art finished and hast returned to Orsterra?”  The sudden question from H’aanit cuts into the cleric’s thoughts, and she blinks. The rest of her companions are curious, listening for her answer.

She fumbles, blushing.

“Oh, not quite. I had to stop by Marsalim for some supplies. I might not be finished,” she admits. “Not for a long while. I’m afraid I’ll need to get going soon, since I’ve already been bedridden for the entire week.”

Ophilia can't quite hide the melancholy in her tone. Her sabbatical, venturing beyond the continent of Orsterra to learn more of spirituality abroad, has been enlightening. And there was certainly nothing more she loved more in the world than her duties as a cleric of the Flame. 

Yet in each new town by her lonesome, she’d found her mind drifting. Thoughts about what each of them were doing at that precise moment. How many times had she turned around to ask Cyrus an academic question, or to ask Tressa her perspective on the quality of a purchase, only to find thin air? She did miss them so!

 “…I see. That is a bit of a shame.” H’aanit’s brows furrow and there’s concern written all over her face. “Pray have some more soupe,” The huntress leans over, and ladles more vegetable broth into her bowl. It’s a nostalgic flavor from Flamesgrace, the warmth of it spreading through her bones.

“Hey, take care,” Alfyn's tone is sincere. “It’s good to help others, but not if you work yourself sick. Here, try these olives. They’re home grown by yours truly.”  He deposits a hefty portion of salad onto her plate. “Y’know, shucks- it’s been too long. Everyone all together. It’s pretty rare now, ain’t it. Gotta enjoy this while we can. How about it, Olberic?”

He gestures rather meaningfully towards an unopened keg of beer sitting by the doorway. The retired knight straightens up, and both men amble off to the kitchen.

Tressa nods. “If you ever get _do_ get tired, you can always come straight here. There’s room enough for all of us. Saintsbridge houses are super big.” The young merchant’s half chewing and half chatting.

“Your presence would always be appreciated,” Primrose adds. “I find myself coming here when I’m in need of some respite. Professor, would you mind passing me a napkin?”

Somehow, her fatigue and tension are melting away, and her heart squeezes.

 

A while after the table's been cleaned up, she steps into the outdoor garden. It’s well into nighttime, and the stars twinkle, as if smiling, overhead. The bubbling river, a little beyond the house, catches and disperses the moonlight. She listens to the burble of the water and the singing of crickets.

“Hey. You’re up.”

The young woman nearly jumps out of her skin, and whirls around, heart hammering.

Therion stands before her, his mouth quirked.

She blinks and thinks that she might just have imagined it.

“Oh! Therion. It’s very good to see you." Despite his aloof nature, he had a good heart that the travelers had come to know over time and trial.

The thief is solemn as always and is ever recognizable, from his ruffled white hair to his lavender shawl. Ophilia wonders if she’ll ever manage to step as silently as he does. She's a bit envious of it, really.

“There’s some dinner set aside for you, on the table,” she offers.

“Sure.” He looks at her, then away. “But before that, here.” He places something, a small cloth parcel, into her hand. “It might help.”

“Oh! Why, thank you.” She manages, puzzled but grateful. He shrugs in an almost sheepish manner, and turns around to head inside.

The cleric opens the parcel.

Inside is a silver-blue ribbon, cooling to the touch. Imbued with protective magic to resist against ailments, the cleric realizes.

Her heart squeezes again.

 

She finds them all gathered in the living room.

Therion is leaning by the window. His eyes flicker for a briefest millisecond to the ribbon she’s tied in her hair, before he gives her a nod. Cyrus is on the couch perusing yet another tome. He seems unaware of the world- even unaware of Alfyn, tuckered out on the seat beside him. The apothecary’s upper half of his body is draped over the armrest in a precarious position.

Olberic is dozing away on the folding armchair, his arms crossed and his countenance loose. The cleric has never quite seen him this relaxed. H’aanit is reclining on the rug and running a haircomb through the thick fur of the now purring snow leopard, pausing only to drape a woolen blanket over Tressa. Primrose is also sitting on the rug, sipping a mug of tea. The scent is familiar, one of Alfyn’s medicinal concoctions for treating sleepless nights- mixed with a tablespoon of wild honey.

The dancer glances towards her. “How about some herbal tea?”

Home is where the heart is, she thinks, and says, “I would love some.”

She’ll be alright.

**Author's Note:**

> character interaction explorations and experimentation. writing eight people in the same room was tougher than expected.
> 
> also, this game is so fun help


End file.
